


In my defense, I was left unattended

by beautifulcheat (Katalyst)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyst/pseuds/beautifulcheat
Summary: Michael had a PhD in aerospace engineering, a semi-working knowledge of xenoengineering, and a whole lot of suicidally bad ideas.All of that… and almost none of that mattered the day he ended up on a living ship in a distant part of the universe.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	In my defense, I was left unattended

**Author's Note:**

> A Malex-centric Farscape AU. 
> 
> Characters and tags will likely be added as I keep working on this! :)

It wasn’t that Michael wasn’t _aware_ of the risks. Building a spaceship console without any real plans or schematics, without a firm grip on an alien species’ technology, with fragments of that technology, in one’s bunker, on summer breaks from UMN and UCSD, was a task seemingly destined to fail.

Attaching a life support pod to said console and actually using it to leave earth’s atmosphere, was bordering on suicidally stupid.

Punching random coordinates into the console on a whim? Yeah, that was just fucking insane.

It’s not that he didn’t realize all those things, as he was doing them. It’s just he was high on the euphoria of success and the lightness in his bones in 0 grav and the deep need to know what was out there, to test the limits of the technology that he had frankensteined back to life.

Of course what he didn’t expect was to be somehow warped to completely unfamiliar space. Michael spent his life looking up at the stars, and even with room for perspective shifts, he didn’t recognize _anything_ around him. 

And that’s where the panic started setting in. 

There were a good sixty seconds of pure, existential dread… Michael trying to get his bearings, when his ship shuddered, a loud reverberation that could only mean something actually _hit_ him, his ship spinning wildly in space, bringing something… huge into view.

It took several moments to realize that it was another ship. And there was a goddamned space battle happening, all around him. And he had no navigational control. And he was being drawn closer to the ship.

_Ah, fuck._

\----

Michael stumbled out of the pod, throwing up… body re-adjusting to gravity, and the travel, and trying to use his telekinesis to keep his pod out of the ship. None of it worked. He was well, and truly fucked.

There was a sharp sting in his leg, and Michael cursed, looking down at what he could only describe as a roomba with a miniature gun sticking out of it. And it was advancing on him, threateningly. Michael took a few stumbling steps… part to put distance between them, part to see what it would do. The roomba advanced on him – and he recognized that behavior from his time out on the ranch. It was definitely herding him. He stopped, kicked at it, which it handily avoided, and shot, a little bolt of _something,_ that pinged into the wall behind him, sizzled. Far too fast for Michael to stop it with his power.

Well, shit. He thinks. Letting out a slow breath and letting it herd him, down dim, golden hallways that were distinctly alien… and distinctly different than what he’d grown to be accustomed to as ‘alien’ – no shimmering, opalescent glowing glass in sight. 

The walls opened up, eventually, into a large room that he distantly recognizes as the bridge. Two men were busy around a large central console, one, dark hair escaping a tie and falling in his face looked human. The other, green hair, skin that looked iridescent was decidedly not. And they seemed to be arguing in a language he didn’t understand. One of them, the human, turned to him… grabbed the front of his jacket, hauling him in, asking him what sounded like questions. Michael shook his head.   
  
“I can’t understand you!” He protested, pulling at the hands on him. That didn’t seem to do much but make the other more frustrated, yelling out something. Moments later, Michael felt a sharp pain in his ankle, and he looked down, with a hiss to see that same damned roomba, now with a hypodermic needle glinting sharply. Michael snarled and kicked at it again, with a bit of his power, hard enough to set it spinning away, one of the eye-like antennae dangling at an odd angle. 

“Your ship.” Michael jerked, looking back at him. “What technology is that?”   
  
“Ah…” Yeah. He doesn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. 

“Can we use it to escape?” The other one asked, urgently, as the whole ship shuddered under the onslaught going on outside. The grip on Michael’s jacket was released as the one holding him turned back to the console to steady himself, swearing.   
  
“Fuck. Pilot!” 

“I can’t do anything until the control collar is released.” Michael’s eyes go wide as he sees a hologram of some sort of… squid like thing popping up onto the console. “The Peacekeeper command carrier will recapture us shortly, at this rate.” 

“Hell with it…” He growls. “Forrest, just start pulling whatever you can.” 

The other man nodded, opening up a panel, reaching in and grabbing a handful of wiring, ripping at it.

Michael cursed… just knowing, somehow. “You’re hurting it... her.” He said, pushing him aside, ignoring their protests, reaching into the console, not even sure what, exactly he was looking for… but there. Something that looked… no, felt wrong. “This.” He said, even as he grabbed it and pulled.

He looked up at them, and there was a beat or two of silence, punctuated by the shuddering groaning of the ship between them. 

“Coding wall is dimming.”

“Are you sure, Alex?” Forrest asked, looking back at him, stepping in.

“We hit the code.” He said with a nod… fingers moving across the console, confidently. “Pilot?” Hope in that voice. 

“The control collar is coming off!” 

Alex and Forrest shared a look of triumph. “Prepare for immediate starburst.” Forrest said, decisively. Michael wondered what the hell that meant. Some kind of defensive maneuver, he assumed. 

“Moya’s been restrained for so long…” 

Alex gripped the console, hard. “Anything she’s got, Pilot. We need to get out of here. Now.”

The pilot let out a groan. “Hold onto something, people.” 

That was the only warning Michael got before the ship… the whole world… _folded in on itself._ It felt like everything was breaking apart into piercing light, noise, and strange euphoria, before everything snapped back together again, leaving Michael staggering, sick. 

“And now we deal with this one.” Alex was saying, before everything went black. 

\--

 _Ow_. Michael groaned. “Please be a dream. Please be a weird fucking dream. I’m in the airstream, about to go for another day of work super hung over from a complete bender last night. Right?” He said under his breath… reaching to rub at a bruised jaw. He definitely got that in some kind of fight. 

He opened his eyes, to a gold, textured ceiling. 

“Great.” He said, letting out a deep breath, sitting up. What he wouldn’t give for some fucking acetone. Looking around at the room… it looked like a prison cell. Bare walls, bare floor, a few bed-like benches. Figures he’d travel across the universe and still, somehow, end up in a fucking prison cell. 

Michael heard footsteps approaching… Pushing himself to sit up, and realizing he was fucking _naked_. Shit. He scanned the room, spotted his clothes on the other side of the cell, and scrambled for them

“I’ll handle the interrogation. You see what you can do about finding more iriscentant fluid.” 

“Pilot’s working on it. I don’t want you going in there alone.” 

A snort. “You know I can handle myself.”   
  
“I know.” A soft, warm laugh, and they were coming into view, just as Michael’d gotten pants and his shirt on. 

“Hey guys, thanks for rolling out the welcome mat.” Michael says, dryly, as the bars slid open and the other two came into view.

They exchanged a look. 

“What is your name?” Alex asked, stepping forward, arms crossed, face grim. 

No harm in answering that question. “Michael Guerin.” He says… and if he had pulled his hat out of the pod, he’d have tipped it at him. 

“Guerin.” Alex says his name… and there’s something about the _way_ he says it that warms him down to his toes.

 _Focus, Michael._ “Don’t wear it out.” 

“You’re not a Peacekeeper.” 

“Peacekeeper?” He says, slowly. “Like the guys who were attacking us?” Thinking quickly. “No, I’m obviously like you.” He’s had years and years of blending in. He hated to admit it, but Max's strategy worked. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? 

Alex raised an eyebrow. “ _I’m_ a peacekeeper. A Sebacean. And you’re definitely not.” He started to prowl around Michael, with a distinctly sharp look. 

_Get it together Guerin. Just because a hot guy dressed head to toe in black leather is looking at you like_ that _doesn’t mean you immediately need to fall head over heels in lust with him._ Michael reminded himself, sternly.

“So. If you’re _not_ Sebacean, then what is your species?” Forrest asked, his hand on Alex’s shoulder.  
  
Michael took a breath. “… Interesting question.” He said, slowly.


End file.
